


Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

by Stranger



Category: Blakes 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stranger/pseuds/Stranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon and Vila are bored and find themselves something to do on a strange planet. They both find unexpected prizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

**Author's Note:**

> Written 1988. Appeared in the zine _Southern Comfort_ 4.75, Ashton Press. Inspired by the song of the same title in _Cats_, but doesn't depend on it. Inspiration nudged by a song-vid to the _Cats_ song featuring Avon and Vila.
> 
> On the rating, neither of the characters is very adult, but I suppose a mature audience would be more likely to read this as intended instead of just sniggering.

"Zephron," said Gan happily, sniffing the air in the small park where the teleport had landed them. It was deserted in the early dusk.

"It's pretty," Jenna agreed. "No wonder there's a free-trader base here." She peered upwards, then around at the grass underfoot. "Where are we?"

Avon surveyed the vegetable growths under his feet, over his head and to all sides. He tried to ignore it. This left him nowhere to look but at his companions. Vila also looked uneasy, glancing from tree to burgeoning shrubbery and back at Gan, who was all too obviously enjoying it.

"We're in Zephron City," said Gan. "I always wanted to see Zephron City, before... before I left." He eyed a skyline of hills and spires under an undomed sky.

"Now you've seen the galaxy instead," said Vila, "how's the city hold up?"

"Why should it?" muttered Avon, but he was glaring at the trees again and the others ignored him. It was, he thought, like that unspeakable place with Decimas. He wished Blake would stick to making them visit decently bare planets like Centero, or better yet, space stations.

"Beautiful," sighed Gan, taking another deep breath.

"Which way to the business district?" asked Jenna. "Larsen's a little edgy; I don't think she'll like it if we're late."

"Neither will Blake," said Avon, more audibly this time.

Gan shook himself out of his homesick reverie and pointed toward a cluster of lights just now visible in the darkening twilight. "That's the central city area. The banking square should be more or less in the middle of it."

"How do we..." began Vila.

"Walk," said Gan. "The avenues are for pedestrians. It doesn't look more than a couple of kilometers."

"Try to look as though you're having fun," said Avon, far too sweetly.

Their path led downhill on a gently curved street which acquired foot traffic as it became a panel-lit shopping thoroughfare. Jenna did not allow them to dawdle at the merchandise displays, but she eyed the sights as appreciatively as the others did. Gan's evaluation of their _Liberator_ clothing as suitable for Zephron proved to be correct, and so was his declaration that visible hand weapons would be conspicuously out of place. They weren't carrying the _Liberator_ guns, and if some of the party felt more secure with concealed weapons, there was no need to mention it aloud.

Vila noted with interest that much of the traffic consisted of hand-in-hand couples, or attractive individual with the unmistakable intention of seeking coupledom. He made an attempt to snuggle up to Jenna. "Maybe I should hold your hand," he suggested brightly. "Just to make us blend in."

"Vila, your jokes would be funnier if they weren't so trite." She pointedly circled to Gan's other side.

Vila, however, was distracted by two new strolling couples. "Avon," he nudged the only member of the group who was not avoiding him at the moment, "those are men."

"So they are. Observant of you, Vila. Were you expecting green-skinned aliens with pointed ears?"

"I don't think so. Just... never mind."

"Hardly difficult for you."

Gan interposed, before the exchange could escalate into a quarrel, "The banking square is just ahead. Larsen said she'd be at the Zephroid fountain."

"The what?"

A fountain could be seen at the far side of the square: a huge globe of water impossibly balanced on a single jet, with various light effects. "A model of Zephron, perhaps?" asked Avon. "Interesting bit of gravity generation."

"The Zephroid," said Gan, clearly pleased at the chance to talk, "is the basis for Zephron money credit. It records every transaction on the planet."

"What, that?" asked Vila in disbelief.

"The Zephroid is a computer," said Avon. "It was built specially for Zephron about fifty years ago. I though it had been superceded by the Federation's Central Computer when they took over here."

"Not exactly," said Gan. "The Federation annexed Zephron and installed their own computer system, but the Zephroid couldn't be switched off and no one wanted to destroy something so valuable. It's still in some banking head's safe, ticking away."

"Double your credit," said Vila dreamily. "What's the fountain for, then?"

"It's impressive," said Jenna absently, scanning the area. She was right. The water formed an enormous lighted bubble looming above them, a hollow sphere with intermittent colored jets sparkling in orbits both within and without the shimmering surface.

"It was part of old Zephron, from before the Federation takeover," said Gan. "I've always wanted to see it myself."

"Now Blake has conveniently given you the chance," said Avon.

Before Gan could reply, Jenna said, "There's Larsen. She has another person with her. Everyone remember that we're not expecting a fight, unless we get one."

"Don't you trust your friends?" inquired Avon, thinking of his variable laser probe, an effective needler at close range.

"Not particularly," she shot back at him, with meaning, but he'd seen her tuck two laser needlers into her pockets earlier.

The tall blonde woman Jenna had been watching approached them, carefully, and said, "I'm Larsen." She nodded at Jenna. "Stannis. This is Walker." Her companion, a tall blond man, approached them, also showing caution.

The conversation that followed contained involved recognition codes and was largely incomprehensible to the other three from _Liberator_, though Vila perked up at a mention of "pink gin." Was it a code or something they might encounter?

"We've a trader-house nearby," said Larsen eventually. "Walker and I can welcome two of your there. You and whichever one you choose, Stan."

"Oleg Gan," said Jenna, pulling Gan forward. Avon gave her a hard look. "The other two will follow as far as your house. They should know where we are."

"The trader-house location is no secret. Please follow." Larsen set off toward a corner of the square where another boulevard curved gently into the distance.

Avon signaled Jenna back with a nod. "Why?" he said, cutting edge perfectly clear in his voice.

"Gan knows the local politics."

"He's a fool."

"Having him with me might prevent a fight," she said, "if it comes to getting out fast."

Avon glanced at the back of Gan's head, several meters away. "He can't..."

"You're trigger-happy. He isn't." She gave him a final do-it-because-I-say-so look, between the eyes, and hurried up to join Gan and Larsen.

Avon cast a speaking look at Vila, who was merely glad to have avoided Jenna's notice, but before he could think of anything to say, the dark bulk of Gan turned and waited for them to catch up.

"What's this," inquired Avon nastily, "an attempt at conciliation?"

"Maybe," said Gan. "Jenna doesn't need a bodyguard, you know. Blake told her to keep me inconspicuous. The Terra Nostra might remember my face."

"Why bring you, then?"

Vila hoped he didn't look as impressed, or as frightened, as he felt. "Are they here? What do you mean, they'd know you?"

"My... someone I knew became expendable to them, and I tried to protect her. It didn't work." He swallowed. "They run half the planet. The Federation works for them, here, it seems like. I know enough about them to be useful, so I'm taking the chance."

Avon thought about it for a moment. "Why aren't we treating with the Terra Nostra, then?"

"Blake," said Gan firmly, "isn't a criminal."

"He's not?"

"You know what I mean." Gan was not impressed by sophistries. "The free-traders might welcome our backing here, and if we can count on them we'll have allies everywhere." He spoke in a voice that reached only Vila and Avon, though the foot traffic, thinning as they moved away from the square, was now reduced to themselves and two distant couples, both women. "The Terra Nostra would like to run the whole planet. The free-traders are the one bloc strong enough to oppose them here, and they're just holding their own."

"You haven't been on the planet for two years," said Avon, softly with but emphasis. "Are you sure your knowledge is still any good?"

"Good enough. The chief man for Zephron City is still Reitsen. The same Reitsen. That means the main organization won't have changed."

"How do you know that?"

"I asked Larsen if Reitsen was still her biggest problem. He is."

"Thus revealing the extent of your knowledge," snapped Avon.

"Yes," said Gan with sweet patience. "She knows how high that name goes."

Avon sighed exaggeratedly but did not reply. They were nearly at the end of the lit promenade by now, where a quartet of buildings that advertised themselves as theaters provided a milling cluster of people. The six of them merged with the crowd, and presently emerged in a tight group at one side, to be led by Larsen to an alley full of side doors.

The door Larsen knocked at had no costumed players behind it, only another tall man who nodded at Larsen and Walker and frowned at the rest of them.

"This is as far as we can take you," said Larsen to Avon and Vila.

"Gan and I will check in with you at half-hour intervals," said Jenna "Stay in communicator range. This shouldn't last more than two hours, as agreed." Larsen nodded.

Avon gave a curt return nod. "Until later," he said to the group at large, and stepped back to let the door close behind Jenna and Gan.

Vila had stepped back as well and, being Vila, bumped into an open side door nearby. Two feathered and sequined faced peered curiously at them from around the frame. Vila blew them a kiss, then blushed redder than their sequins when he realized both faces were male.

"Go on," said Avon somewhat caustically, "get acquainted. I think they like you."

"Shut up," said Vila, but he recovered enough to give the faces an apologetic grin before he followed Avon out of the narrow alley and back into the jostling crowd.

"Free at last," he muttered.

"Don't you want to go back to the ship?" asked Avon.

"You heard the lady. We have two hours. Doesn't this look like a nice place to explore the local culture a little?"

"You're the one who always complains about using your feet."

"We needn't walk very far," noted Vila, gazing at a feathered sign announcing _Joybirds of the Zephyr_. Scarlet feathers curled and fluttered in an animated breeze, as did the lettering.

"Oh, no, you don't," said Avon. "Jenna may trust those friends of hers, but I intend to wait for her first call somewhere other than a theater full of live obstructions and witnesses."

"Paranoid," aren't you?"

"Alive, too."

"So'm I!" protested Vila.

"If you call it that. I wonder if those shops stay open as long as the light panels are lit?" Avon was gazing at one nearby display of artifacts: transparent spheres of all sizes and colors, some decorated, all apparently purposeless. One clear globe contained a heap of centimeter-sized balls in bright opaque colors with a dispenser mechanism beneath. Another, slightly smaller, hovered over rather than on its stand and sparked with flashing lights in a timed pattern. Such abstract toys were gaudy, Avon thought, but vaguely appealing.

"You haven't any local currency," Vila pointed out.

"When has that stopped you?"

"When I don't feel like it."

"I could make it worth your while," Avon suggested.

"How?"

"Our obvious course of action is to teleport up to the ship and keep Blake out of trouble and within range of Zephron and Jenna's signal. However, we might — I say might — as well observe the planet for ourselves."

"You want to anyway," said Vila. Before Avon could retort, he said, "Don't bother. Terra Nostra territory isn't a smart place to start shoplifting. They like things to look clean in public. And anyway, I'm an inside worker, a second-story man."

Avon frowned and walked briskly away from the theater area without replying, but he made no move to teleport up. They were in view of too many Zephron citizens.

"What are we going to do, then?" Vila asked when they had reached a somewhat deserted area littered with benches and squares of open dirt and vegetation.

"Wait for Jenna's first check-in," said Avon, carefully avoiding the patches of live things.

"The shrubberies don't bite," said Vila, sitting defiantly on a bench and planting his feet on a low-growing groundcover that gave forth pungent odors. "Well, sit down while you're waiting. The Zephrons would hardly put a man-eating plant in the middle of a public mall."

Their bracelets chimed on schedule. After a brief but reassuring conversation, Avon broke contact.

"That's that for the moment," he said, noting with irritation that one of the strolling couples had settled on a bench opposite. Inadequately screened by more of the omnipresent organic décor, they were proceedings to behave in a fashion no Alpha grade of Earth would consider suitable in public. His irritation was increased by Vila's fascinated appreciation of their sentiments.

He rose hastily and retreated toward the better-lit side of the avenue, noting open doorways and doorways closed with grills.

"If you don't like the street," said Vila behind him, "let's see if we can get onto one of those rooftop patios"

"They're closed," said Avon, realizing that the grills were intended to keep only people out; air was welcome. He wished for a dome, or at least a closed ship. A _quiet_ ship. One without Blake.

"I can open these." Vila fumbled a moment with the locked grill. "Here, yes, up we go..." He led the way into the door arch, up a stair, and onto a canopied, railed platform populated by benches and innumerable live plants in pots, but no humans. "See, we have a view."

The street was visible from their vantage but, Avon was quick to realize, they themselves were in shadow, invisible for all practical purposes. "If no one else shows up," he said in grudging approval, "it may be as good a place as any to sit down."

"I closed the stairway door," said Vila.

"A lot of help that will be if the right key holder comes along."

Vila gave him a reproachful look in the darkness. "_I_ closed it. It'll only open when _I_ open it. Lock picking works both ways, y'know."

This had not previously occurred to Avon. "I hope you can undo it in a hurry."

Vila chose to ignore this slur on his abilities. "Now," he said, seating himself on a bench not overhung by leaves, stems, stalks, blossom, or other unnamable vegetable detritus — which was the bench Avon had already chosen — "We have two hours to kill and no money. Any ideas?"

"Maybe we _should_ teleport back to the ship. At least it's not full of plant life."

"It's full of Blake and Cally, who are working on the unified theory of conquering the Federation. That's why you volunteered for this landing party. That's why _I_ did."

"Anything's better than a crazed alien and the Hero of the Rebellion," agreed Avon, struck by Vila's occasional fits of perspicacity. "Why hasn't he disposed of her, after that fiasco with the thing she called 'The Lost'?"

"Aw, that's not just an alien, that's a pretty girl." Vila was beginning to wish he had stolen something to drink while they were up here, and to hell with the Terra Nostra. Would they grudge him one little bottle of wine?

"That's a revolution-mad guerilla communications specialist," said Avon. "Just what we needed, _another_ one."

"You don't like either of them, do you?"

"How can you tell?"

"I read your mind."

Avon's jerky and immediate retreat was followed by a lightning-swift, furious hand closing on Vila's shoulder.

"Okay, okay," wailed Vila hastily, "that was a joke. I'm not a telepath!"

"Your humor is singularly tasteless. Why are you so interested in Cally?" The hand eased and dropped from him, Avon settling back on the bench as far as possible from both Vila and the threatening plant life.

"Why not?" She's pretty."

"I have not heretofore suspected that you were blind."

"Well, she'd clean up pretty."

"Your esthetic sense is singularly... inappropriate."

"Why don't you like her?"

Avon remember the cold, flinty words that had appeared from nowhere in his mind and repressed a shudder. "I don't trust her."

"You don't trust anybody."

"Right."

Vila sat watching the mall. The couple they'd abandoned earlier were hidden in plant shadows, the near shops were invisible beneath them, the far side too distant to pick out interesting details. "I wonder how many Zephrons are down in that avenue tonight and what they're doing?"

Avon sighed at Vila, whose direction of thought was perfectly clear to him. "You have noticed that Zephron City tolerates more public behavior than is allowed in the Domes, or is customary aboard _Liberator_. You wish to take advantage of this, being untrained in either self-discipline or decorum."

"Umm, yes. The natives are friendly. I feel friendly."

"Might I point out that your choice of partner would inevitably be a hasty compromise?"

"Is that an invitation?"

Avon remained quite still, poised between Vila and something that smelled, repulsively, of sap. "Jenna is correct. Your joking is trite."

"What if it's not a joke?" Vila's voice in the nearly full darkness had a wistful undertone.

"What if I'm not amused?" snapped Avon.

Vila continued, all wistful tenacity, "You can't stand Blake and Cally. You think Gan's stupid..."

"I think _you're_ stupid," broke in Avon.

"Not really, y'know. Jenna's still putting everyone off, and anyhow she's loyal to Blake, so you don't want to give her any points."

"And you think that leaves yourself."

"Is there someone else on the ship I've missed?" Vila inquired.

"The question is whether you're someone at all."

Vila sighed deeply, wistfully. "It was worth asking. Sorry to annoy you, Avon," He moved off the bench, to another half-covered by fronds or roots or some other plantly excess, and sat carefully on the clean half.

Piqued at the meek, rapid withdrawal, Avon got up and prowled around the balcony, noting that the view opposite the street, visible between two high-standing pots, showed a well-lit, enclosed compound of buildings with decently restrained intervals of lawn, and a central house of the open architecture favored by Zephron's wealthy elite. Such seeming unprotection advertised, to the informed eye, the existence of a powerful remote security system. Nearer lay a maze of roofs, courts and alleyways.

Avon turned back to Vila's side. "Your reasoning is not unsound," he said, laying a hand on one slumped shoulder. "I haven't yet said how I'd answer the question."

Vila did not bound up in hopeful enthusiasm. "Now you're just trying to sweet-talk me."

"Right," said Avon. "As you have pointed out, we have the time, even if the circumstances are—" their bracelets chimed.

"Avon," he growled into his.

"Gan." Gan was the right person to be making the second check-in. "We're still with Larsen and Walker, and safe. Please reassure Blake that we will keep to schedule."

"I will. Out." Avon stabbed at his bracelet controls. Chime.

The answer was prompt. "Blake."

"Avon. Jenna and Gan are speaking privately with Larsen and her people. Vila and I will remain here as backup until they are finished. They confirm that we should be ready to teleport back to _Liberator_ a maximum of 90 minutes from now."

"Good enough," said the easy voice. "I'll come after you if I don't hear from someone by then. Agreed?"

"Agreed," growled Avon, and sneered at the bracelet while it went silent. He relished a moment of quiet.

"You were saying, before?" came Vila's voice. He'd stood up.

"The circumstances being that your company is the alternative to Blake and his crusade, I'm inclined to overlook your vulgar tastes."

"That's not actually the most flattering offer I've ever had."

"Considering your choices—"

"But it'll do," Vila interrupted, and slid an arm around Avon's waist to pull him closer before he might change his mind.

Avon discovered without great surprise that Vila's approach had enthusiasm and practice behind it. The rather direct charm was far more appealing than Avon expected. A moment later he disengaged for long enough to breathe, aware that he was in danger of giving way to Vila's equally direct intentions. "Slow down," he admonished.

"Tired of me already?"

"Not exactly." He took the opportunity to scan their enclosure. It might be theirs alone for the moment, but it was open to the listening street, and someone, such as the owner, might show up at any time. His gaze, directed at the gap that showed the house behind, picked up motion where all had been still before. He focused, and spoke. "I'm very interested, Vila. Too much for a city balcony." He turned Vila to share his line of sight, which wasn't difficult as Vila continued to adhere to him like taffy. "Look there. Maybe it will keep while we investigate that."

"Huh?" Vila looked at the open-plan house, where uniforms and evening dress now mingled on half-walled courts and under open arches. "It's crawling with guards."

"So it is," said Avon, plots revolving rapidly in his mind. "Guards on a private house, especially when a number of well-dressed visitors are in evidence, mean..."

"The regular security is switched off," filled in Vila, "for a party."

"And the presence of security in the first place suggests..."

"That there's something there worth guarding..."

"So if we could get in there and look around..."

"Either the house or the guests might be worth our time," finished Vila. He patted his rumpled tunic. "Pity we're not dressed for it."

"We would be, if we could catch one of those guards."

"Only one?"

"One to start with," said Avon. "First, can we get into the grounds there without going through the gate?"

"Where riffraff like us is screened out," said Vila. "Possibly." He craned out the gap that showed their target, and nodded. "Up here, and down onto that roof."

"You weren't exaggerating when you called yourself a second-story man, were you?"

Vila already on the other side of the balcony's back wall, looked up into Avon's eyes. "Not at all."

Avon followed him. The roof behind the balcony sloped down to a thick wall, and the wall led to another roof. A side stairway took them to a higher, deserted balcony which was adjacent to an occupied one. They made their passage quick and quiet, and swung over its far wall to find an alley between them an the walls of the target house. From here, audible revelry echoed from it over the backstreets.

"I didn't come equipped for real climbing," said Vila regretfully, "but this should still work..." He was clinging to five centimeters of ledge with no other visible means of support.

"What do you call what we've been doing?" asked Avon, irritable at the exertion.

"Just a light warm-up," Vila assured him. "Let's see, if we go along this wall" — he had descended to a nine-centimeter ledge with no support on either side — "then that gate will take us to the house beyond." From the second house, a common wall led broadly to the noisy, glowing compound which they could see clearly now. The evening costumes were obviously expensive, the guards were uniformed to match the house color-scheme, the flock of guests buzzed around the glow of the house in the mild evening air.

"It's just getting started," commented Vila. "Now, follow me." He threaded his way easily along the narrow wall of the alley, across the narrower gate-top, and onto the thick wall that led to their goal. Avon, reflecting that Vila's talents were more varied than he'd suspected, followed with gritted teeth and a determination not to be upstaged.

They passed a babble of conversation and retreated from the outdoor lighting. No alarms and no telltale monitor flash followed them as they made their way, Vila halting at intervals, to the darker side of the enclosure, and stepped from there onto the roof of an outbuilding some careless designer had allowed just barely too near the wall.

Vila sat down on the not-too-steep, roughly tiled surface. "Wait."

"Does even Restal need rest?" Avon gratefully followed suit, sharpening his tone to compensate.

"Wait to see if anyone comes after us. From here, we can still get away."

"Is this the scourge of a thousand strongboxes speaking?"

Vila kept his voice low. "More like a hundred, but they were well-chosen. If we trip any perimeter alarms — if I missed any back there — and we're caught, that won't be any fun."

"That's when we teleport out."

"Then," said Vila, "that's when _you_ get to tell Blake why we needed emergency teleport."

Avon's voice dropped. "Any sign of pursuit?"

"Not yet. Did you happen to hear any of that chatter?"

Avon wanted to prolong the respite of sitting on a roof instead of climbing over it. "A little. Of course, it's mostly gossip and small talk."

"I thought I heard some names and catch-words," said Vila. "It's a bit of a nicety, but I like to know who I'm stealing from."

"A fine point," agreed Avon gravely. "I'm glad to know you practice your profession, at least, with some style."

"Nothing else?" Vila edged nearer to Avon.

Avon said, quickly, "I caught the name 'Reitsen' more than once. No doubt it's a common topic in this city."

Vila stopped in mid-advance. "That would explain it."

"What?"

"The half-open house. It's a dare. No one who knows the first thing about it would touch the Terra Nostra chief's property. Anyone who's good enough to do it and get away should be with them already."

"Sounds dangerous," said Avon. "Think how horrified Gan would be."

Vila said thoughtfully, "We do have the teleport. I've never respected the Terra Nostra."

"You're afraid of them."

"Oh, yes. But I don't respect them. If we've a good chance here, let's take it."

"I'm thinking how horrified Blake will be," said Avon, in high good humor.

"Actually, Blake might be pleased. He wants the free-traders."

"I suppose this might impress them. I'll take that risk."

Vila smiled and edged closer to Avon. "So as soon as we're quite sure no one's seen us yet..."

The roof creaked ominously under them. Vila nearly yelped and was restrained by a hand like iron on his near wrist. "Didn't Gan say Zephron was on the Central Computer for weather control?" asked Avon's low voice beside him.

"Yes."

"I thought so." The evening mist, a pleasant, sky-obscuring haze until now, was coagulating into a very discrete, underlit canopy. "No wonder we found so few people on balconies," murmured Avon. "Do we want to be watered upon by the air? I, for one, do not choose to join the vegetable realm quite so definitively."

"Uh, you have a point. Is there a cure?"

"_Shelter from the elements_ has always been an empty phrase before, but if we concede that the element in question is water..."

"We'd better find a way off this roof. Maybe under it," suggested Vila. He crawled to one edge and peered over. "I'll go first."

"Heroics, Vila?" asked Avon in a sarcastic whisper.

"No, I see a soft spot." Vila slid, disappeared, and landed with a muffled thump and a word from the less respectable Delta vocabulary.

When Avon edged forward for a view, he found Vila on his feet and beckoning. "Get down here!" The mouthed command was reinforced by a wet touch on the back of Avon's neck. And another, and a soft rattle of drops on the roof. He slid, disappeared in turn, and landed as silently as he was able. He'd had worse falls.

The shed no longer beneath them might not be locked, but it didn't appear to have a door, either. They were wet by their second tour around it, and getting wetter. "Some people don't trust anyone," whispered Vila.

"Can you blame them?"

"Only when I'm working."

"Let's just get inside," hissed Avon. He had an irrational conviction that the water would run up his nose and drown him if he let it get out of control. It was _was_ out of control. At least the live guards would be unlikely to see them, or even look for them, just now.

"Aha," said Vila, dripping, shaking his hands and pushing carefully at a panel identical to every other panel in the shed's walls. It didn't budge. "Ha," he said, trying the next one. "Ohh." He pushed, pulled, and opened the bit of wall. They slithered together into dank, claustrophobic, but comparatively dry airspace.

There was a steady dripping noise and no light at all. Vila left the door barely ajar behind them, took a step, and bumped into Avon. Vila, unsettled by actual weather after a life of Domes and ships, decided not to let go. He explored the configuration a little and settled into a suitably intimate posture.

"You're wet," hissed a voice from the darkness near his ear.

"So're you," pointed out Vila. "I'm cold."

Avon, despite the water or because of it, showed no sign of pushing him away.

Their bracelets chimed.

Vila repeated the unrespectable Delta word as Avon extricated one arm. "Avon."

"Stannis."

Avon completed the routine conversation, all but identical with several he had shared from one end or the other on previous planetary excursions. Jenna was using her sharpest now-do-it voice, and he wondered how the talks were going.

"Out," said Avon finally, and returned his arm to its previous position. "At least that's over for the next half hour."

"It's still raining," said Vila.

"What?"

"The water's still coming down from the Do— sky."

"Your vocabulary never ceases to amaze me." The roof, which had been dripping somewhere in the close darkness, began a more raucous patter.

"I'll bet we did that," said Vila. "This place is dry, so it can't have leaked like that regularly. Let's move."

Somehow they sidestepped together directly into the falling stream. Vila shivered in Avon's arms, and began a string of Delta-grade epithets. Still holding Vila, Avon succeeded in sidestepping back out of it. "Does everyone talk like that in the Delta warrens?"

"O-only the fac-cile t-tongued geniuses."

"Then where did you acquire the ability?"

Vila glared at him — which was useless under the circumstances — and added a couple of words.

"I take it those are uncomplimentary."

"You betcha." Vila clung, if possible, more closely to Avon. If the bastard didn't like it, that was fine with him.

The waterfall beside them thickened as a tile dropped on Vila's right foot, accompanied by a dirty-smelling freshet full of dead leaves and other evidences of wild plant life. "Ow!"

"Uuch," said Avon with heroic restraint. He shuddered. "How did we get into this?"

"It was your idea. Are we sure we want to burgle this house after all?" Vila tightened his wet clasp.

"No."

There followed an interval during which Vila realized that Alpha courting technique, though shaped by considerations of refinement and nicety rather than straightforward gratification, had much the same intent and effect as his own.

Eventually Avon removed himself, not without reluctance, from Vila's comprehensive embrace. "If we're to get into the house at all, we should get started."

"Why do we care?"

"I'd prefer not to provide the others on _Liberator_ with too much easy entertainment at our expense. That house has dry towels and hot water. Once we're inside, we might as well look around before we leave. I think the air is clearing a bit."

In the waning skystorm, the waterfall and its noise quieted until only a sporadic drip from the leak disturbed the silence around them. Vila pushed open the panel and stepped out, cautiously. Light and a distant hum of conversation still spilled from the house.

"That's show's over," he said as Avon joined him. "D'you think we can crash the party like this?"

Avon surveyed Vila's soaked clothing and mud-streaked hair. He was hardly in better condition himself. "I never said our host had taste."

"Only money. I'd call that taste."

"You would."

"So," said Vila sweetly, "would you."

"But I wouldn't say so aloud. Now that our pretense of style has been soaked in this wretched planet's weather, how do you suggest we proceed?"

"Nothing easier," said Vila. "See those guard-like objects standing in the dry spots with their eyes dazzled in the house lights?"

"I'm not sure whether they're intended to be decorative or functional, to tell the truth."

"They know the place better than we do. Let's see how many there are around that corner, and whether he's my size."

There was exactly one. Vila set off across the lawn toward the solitary uniform and caught its owner's eyes with a deliberate wave, hoping that his drenched tunic looked like drenched Zephron party finery. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but the wet spell caught me outdoors." He circled toward the house. "Could you tell me where to find the housekeeper, please?"

The guard, as expected, had not retrieved this information from his brain before Avon maneuvered behind him and put him out with a scientific neck lock.

"More my size, I think," murmured Avon as they went about removing the uniform tunic for use and manacling the guard with his own restrainers. They left him, gagged, behind an ornamental wall on wet grass. Avon's shudder of sympathy was quite short-lived.

"You'll look a bit rumpled," commented Vila as Avon patted the tunic into an approximately fit over his own. "Wouldn't it be beneath your dignity?"

"Not at all," countered Avon, "considering where your dignity will be." He seized Vila's arm in a tenderly proprietary hold. I'll just have to explain that I am assisting a very wet, very drunk guest."

"Can't I be a high-spirited, witty guest?"

"How witty is it to be soaking wet? Come on."

Vila obligingly leaned on his arm, wobbling with suggestive intent.

The arched entrance their victim no longer guarded led to an empty, but festively lit, roofed courtyard; a similar passageway beyond had clinking and babbling sounds at one end and a closed door at the other. Avon propelled Vila toward the closed door.

The door clattered at them, and Avon had just time enough to pull Vila and himself back into the shadow behind a pillar before a server — human, male, wearing something frilly and blue, carrying a tray of little dishes — emerged. He passed the two hidden housebreakers without a glance.

The instant he disappeared on his appointed task, Avon disengaged Vila's hand from his thigh and dragged him through the featureless door.

"Shouldn't we have gone the other way?"

"No," said Avon, turning left at random.

"There'll be more of those service people back here."

"Good. I'm betting the servers are hired for the night, or the guards are. They won't know each other, or the guests. Act wet."

They found a narrow service corridor, a trio of chattering blue-frilled servers (female), a washroom and some dry towels, before they found a second inattentive guard who was Vila's size. They left him unwillingly somnolent in a bedroom. Now camouflaged, they made their way up a staircase and found themselves in an open gallery over the crowd of cocktail-laden guests.

"Not there," said Avon firmly. "This way."

"Why!?"

"You're not dressed for company any more. _We're_ dressed to get past that security camera..." His lips barely moved with the words, and he did not look toward the camera.

"Which is working," noted Vila, warily, but still nothing stopped them. "It may be automatic."

"Let's hope so." Avon continued around a lavishly carpeted corner, and another. "Ah. No direct security scans here, and a very tight-looking doorplate instead. This is your moment, Vila."

"I suppose you think I can open one of these just by saying some magic words."

"You'd have us all believe you can," said Avon. "Want a laser probe?"

"Thanks, I can manage." Vila examined the panel, and began muttering to himself in some argot Avon hoped he didn't recognize. Then he pulled a small box from an inner pocket underneath the guard tunic and passed it back and forth over the surface of the door. He made some adjustments to the box, played with it briefly, and sat back. "It's open. Abracadabra."

Avon looked from the black box to the brown eyes to the doorplate with its green _open_ light. "Allakazam. You must teach me that trick."

Vila shrugged. "It's easy for a facile-tongued genius." Avon reached to push the door open. "Wait. What's here that we want?"

"What do you lock away from social guests?"

Vila grinned. "Right. The vulgar valuables, like money."

"And if you are what Reitsen is, you don't have your private study monitored, not when you're at home."

"The guards will show up sooner or later." Vila's pessimism had saved his skin more than once, and he knew it.

"Then let's hurry." Cautiously, Avon keyed the door. It slid open on an untenanted room that was obviously an office: comm bank, keyboards, racks of cubes and even a few papers were stacked on various horizontal surfaces.

"That door will register on some monitor, but it'll just register open instead of closed," whispered Vila. "I hope."

"Can you do the same for that other one?" The opposite wall's door showed an even more formidable lock plate. "And lock the door again behind us." Avon switched on the desk and studied its open mode. "Good. I can handle this model _and_ its program variations."

Vila, having set the first door to repel further intruders and solved the second one, wandered around the display of Mr. Reitsen's _objects d'art_. "Some of this is good stuff," he suggested, to Avon's intently bowed head.

"The head of the Zephron Terra Nostra can afford it," said Avon absently. The house security schematics showed no alarms in action.

"That's a Vargas... and a Cilento cube... and that's a good collectable but it's vulgar... and that's a fake." Vila peered accusingly at a not-quite-right container upon which blue stylized birds flew over blue stylized waves, all layered into white glaze.

Vila's handy black box indicated that the odd container was not empty, not porcelain, not old, and further, that tampering with it in any physical way was out of the question if he and Avon wanted to remain undetected in the house. He backed away respectfully.

"How's it going?" he asked the absorbed Avon.

"It's a nice clean program," said Avon. "There's no safe or strongbox in the house. In fact, the art in here is your best bet, Vila, especially that shelf you were looking at just now."

"Can you turn it off? That piece is very... interesting..."

"You sound like it's a bottle of Saurian brandy," said Avon dryly, and tapped at the desk. "It's off, though I can't say how long no one will notice. That's the only piece Reitsen thinks is worth protecting." He got up to watch Vila at work.

Vila went back to the quasi-ancient quasi-vase and employed his black detector box again. Presently he touched a control plate on the display stand. Very quietly, the exquisitely false vase evaporated, revealing an awkward, badtempered-looking sphere of plastic sculpture shot about with circling lights and winking, colored sparks.

Just as quietly, the screen on the desk went solid red.

"It's just junk!" said Vila, disappointed. "But it _can't_ be — not with this set-up!"

Avon's eyes widened slowly. "It's an early-Federation computer, or a model. It has to be one of a kind, and it could be powerful enough to handle... the banking system for a planet. That's the Zephroid! It must be!" The transparent floating globe winked malevolently at them in two colors and timed rhythm.

"Here?"

"Why not? It's officially no longer controlling the credit system. Yet... no wonder the Terra Nostra is successful on Zephron. It must be a very useful trophy. And Reitsen puts it in a display case in his office! This whole house is a fool-the-eye disguise."

Vila's eyes gleamed. "Let's take it."

"I wouldn't leave it behind," said Avon. "It's an Ensor."

"Huh?"

"A computer designer. _The_ computer designer. That thing is totally wasted on a money marketeer."

"I suppose _you_ deserve it."

Ping.

Avon reached for his bracelet, then drew back without touching it.

PING. It was the desk.

The desk's surfaces all began radiating a shifting, hypnotically flickering light. PING. **Ping.** _Ping. **PING.**_ The irregular noises could not be ignored.

"Don't look at it," said Avon, and turned his back on the desk to snatch up the Zephroid with reverence and haste. "Vila, _do not_ look at the desk. Let's go. Through that second door; there'll be guards in the hall."

"Hypnostrobe doesn't bother me," said Vila, but his stumble in the direction of the inner door was less agile than it might have been.

Behind them, the door slid open to admit two uneasy guards. Avon glanced back involuntarily at the new sound, froze, and was pulled around by Vila and pushed without ceremony into the next room. Vila followed and keyed the door closed, while Avon shook the daze out of his eyes.

"Have you still got that laser probe?"

"Y... Yes." Avon felt at his pockets and found the tool. Vila took it and began re-locking the door behind them.

In the study, two bona fide guards saw, as they thought, two of their number already in the sanctum. Their confusion was brief but fatal: both were caught, mesmerized by the compelling patterns of light radiating from the desk. They stared into the numbing coruscation of color and rhythm, dreaming blind with their eyes open, and did not see the two intruders disappear into Mr. Reitsen's private quarters.

Inside, Vila stared disbelieving around the room. "Even I think this is vulgar," he said frankly. The bed was circular, and showed the telltale surface wobble of a liquid mattress. The lighting was voice-controlled. At Vila's hushed sentence it dimmed to a suggestive glimmer, produced by what appeared to be small open flames. The scent was deliberate, musk sweetened with some plant perfume. That and the exotic nude portrait on one wall (three entwined images of the same woman) and the bilaterally symmetric fur throws, marked the owner as a self-conscious sybarite.

Avon, recovered, took in his surroundings with startled appreciation; his sudden guffaw sent the lights into blinding convulsions. "I begin to like Reitsen. He has either a sublime sense of humor or the next best thing."

"What?"

"Too much money." Avon had stripped off his guard tunic with one hand, holding the Zephroid in the other. "If we had more time," (the lighting cycled to mid-range) "I'd show you that it's only... overdone. Those guards saw us dressed like this. Better get out of that tunic."

_Chime_

They both jumped, and the lights flashed painfully, then cut off to leave them in total blackness. Vila squeaked, which brought back a dim iridescence full of shadows. The Vila-shaped shadow began pulling off its outer tunic.

"Avon," said Avon into his bracelet, wondering what would happen next.

"Gan here. We'll be ready soon, I hope. Jenna and the traders may have reached a stalemate, but there's some last factor they want to discuss."

"Shall we stand by for a fast pick-up?" asked Avon hopefully.

"The situation's not hostile. We'll call when we're ready. Can you meet us at the trader-house?"

"We've become isolated," said Avon. "Your planet has some interesting aspects, Gan. We're in teleport range, however."

"I'll tell Larsen you like it. We can come up from the house. That's feasible." Which meant the free-traders now knew they had the teleport. It would have been mentioned, naturally, as negotiations proceeded. "If you want to wait for us, we'll call within half an hour, perhaps sooner. Out."

"Out." Avon closed the link.

"He thinks we got lost," said Vila. "He's covering for us."

"Didn't we?" Avon looked around for something innocuous to wrap his prize in. "I suppose Gan has his uses."

"Shouldn't we be getting out of here? There's more guards where those two came from."

"And we have an undetermined number of minutes to spend either hiding or running," said Avon, heading for the far door. "Can you seal this door behind us too?"

"Well, I'm not going back that way," said Vila. "I don't like that desk."

"Very wise." Avon keyed the door open, judging by the low-security touch plate that it led further into Reitsen's suite rather than out into a hallway full of alarmed guards.

It seemed that Reitsen's bedroom connected with an endless series of smaller, but still luxurious, sleeping rooms. At the third pastel bower (pink carpet, pink mirrored walls, pink bedcover) Vila groaned. "I guess we know what Reitsen does for a hobby."

"Or wants to do for a hobby." Avon jabbed at the next door-open touch plate.

"I suppose you've never wanted to set a mood?" asked Vila dubiously.

"Not in pink treacle." Avon looked carefully around the next (pink and yellow) room and drew back. "Dead end."

Vila groaned again, on a different note, a bit panicked.

"You've sealed all those doors, haven't you?"

"Yes, if that does us any good."

Avon gave a comprehensive glance around the room, catalogued it as unbreakable-from and therefore unbreakable-into, and sat on the pink bed. "Vila. Do you think Reitsen's guards will have authority to come in here, without some kind of special override? From him, personally?"

"Now that you mention it... no."

"And how long will it take them to find him without disrupting his reception, and then to get through the locked doors when they find the override doesn't work?"

Vila calculated happily. "More than half an hour."

"I thought so. Come here." Avon set the Zephroid down carefully, noting its position.

"Here?" squeaked Vila. "What if they just break the doors?"

"They think we're trapped. They won't do anything too noisy in a hurry, will they?" Avon was nearly purring. "This is probably the best-protected bedroom on the planet, and it has some very convenient amenities."

"Pink fur, aagh." Despite his words, Vila joined Avon on the bed, glee and hope kindling in his eyes.

"Don't look at it." Avon pulled him down onto the yielding surface.

They had time for some hot, precisely controlled kisses that made Vila lightheaded. The interval before he was released, panting, was more educational than he liked to admit.

"Hmm." Avon surveyed him lazily through very dark eyes. "You'll do."

Vila was affronted. "I'll _do_? I'll do _what_, you egocentric Alpha?"

"You'll do very well. What did you lift in that second bedroom, from the antique storage unit with the pull-drawers?"

Vila tried to sit up. "You got the Zephroid. I wanted a souvenir, too."

"Yes?" smiled Avon, teeth glistening. "Something of no account, I feel sure."

"None of your business."

"Oh?" Avon gestured with his head to take in the surroundings. "You could have found some small, portable item, but I doubt you'd care to wear it yourself."

"You got your toy, I'll keep mine," said Vila. The handful of smooth round beads he'd grabbed had an intriguing and possibly valuable feel, and he wasn't inclined to contribute them to one of Avon's schemes. "Tell me what I'll be _doing_, as soon as we're back safe." He worked a hand under the charcoal-gray tunic some previous denizen of _Liberator_ had left behind, and discovered that he was wasting a caress on silky under-tunic instead of skin. Then he felt an infinitesimal wriggle under his fingers and knew it wasn't being wasted.

"You've had worse ideas," said Avon, just slightly breathless, and pulled him close again.

Their bracelets chimed in unison.

Avon said a single, very clearly enunciated word.

"Is that how you talk in the Alpha sector?"

"Yes. Shut up." Avon thumbed the voice button on his bracelet. "Avon."

"Are you ready for teleport?" inquired Gan's voice.

"Yes." As he spoke, Avon shook off Vila and stood up, clutching the Zephroid in a position that might be unobtrusive when they arrived in _Liberator_'s teleport bay. Vila patted the booty in one pocket as he straightened his tunic and wondered how obviously damp and creased it might be after the past two hours.

Blake's voice said, "Teleporting now." Vila just had time to straighten the back of Avon's tunic before the motionless light surrounded them.

Pink carpet vanished from underfoot to be replaced by the floor of the teleport area, with Gan and Jenna beside them. Blake looked over the returning foursome. "Welcome back. How'd it go, Jenna?"

"Not too well. The free-traders here aren't sure they can afford a connection with us. I'm not sure we'd want one with them, either. They seem to startle very easily."

Blake frowned. "How so?"

"They're obsessed with the Terra Nostra," said Gan, distaste evident. "While we were there, a disturbance was reported at some Nostra chief's house, and after that they couldn't think of anything else."

"And that was effectively the end of negotiations," said Jenna, annoyed.

Avon almost made it to the side corridor before Gan said, "What's that you've got, Avon? It looks like— "

"A model of the Zephroid," said Avon smoothly, his ecstatic, acquisitive satiation masquerading as innocent pride. "I saw it in that shopping concourse you dragged us through."

"He took a fancy to it," put in Vila, "so I helped him with the bargaining."

Blake frowned again, but Avon cut in, "Yes, and I still have to settle up with you for that, don't I? Come along, Vila." They hustled each other out of the teleport bay without waiting for further comments.

"Those two," said Blake to their departing backs, "are each as bad as the other."

"Amen," came Jenna's voice in answer. "Bargain, indeed!"

Vila, as soon as he and Avon were well down a corridor and around a corner, said softly, "You'd better."

"Better what?" asked Avon, without any real doubt.

"Finish what you've started."

Avon raised a haughty eyebrow. "What _I_ started?"

Vila smiled meaningfully. "Gan would love to know what you really picked up, wouldn't he?"

I certainly don't care what Gan thinks."

"Blake would..."

A hard hand closed on Vila's wrist, not quite painfully. "_You_ didn't come away empty-handed, either."

They'd halted at Avon's cabin door. Vila said, "D'you want to search me for it?"

"Your phrasing is incredibly vulgar."

"Aha! You do!"

"Vila..." Avon's patience failed. "Shall we stand out here talking for anyone to overhear, or will you come in?"

Vila put up no objections as he was ushered through the door and Avon locked it behind them. "At least you don't have a pink fur bedspread," he said brightly. The near-austerity of Avon's cabin was more a relief than a surprise.

"I don't need one." Avon's voice had become husky, drawling. He set the Zephhroid on a shelf and turned to Vila, to begin flicking open the individual closures on the colored tunic Vila wore. "As for what you _do_..."

Vila clutched at the tunic as it came off. "Let me," he said, snatching it from Avon's hands and folding it carefully.

Avon grinned, unrepentant. "You don't trust me, do you?"

"Not with jewelry of unspecified value. You're not going to share the Zephroid. I'm keeping my find, okay?"

Avon's hands hovered at Vila's trousers. "Very well, Vila. I have other concerns than your thieving, just at present."

"You'd better," said Vila happily, and brushed away his help. "Let me do all that. Can't _you_ get out of your clothes by yourself?"

"Not at the moment," said Avon sweetly. "I'll need your help. Only, of course, when you've quite finished for yourself." He seated himself on his austere but adequate bed, watching Vila all the while.

"How," asked Vila a few minutes later, "did this get onto your body?"

"I was born it it."

"Probably were," muttered Vila. "Bloody Alpha, platinum tunic comes with the baby..." He stopped to eye a dishevelled but not yet undressed Avon. "You're not helping, you know."

"Do you need help?" Avon smiled at him, eyes gleaming dark.

"_I_ didn't," said Vila pointedly. Avon ran appreciative hands up his ribcage and down again, which did nothing to improve Vila's concentration. "You're really not cooperating."

Deft fingers caressed Vila from the waist down, and Vila squirmed. "Am I?" murmured a soft voice.

"You're... ah!" Simultaneously, Avon's fingertips found a sensitive vertebra, and Vila realized how the remaining clothes could be removed in one economical sweep of motion. Suiting action to thought, he had a pile of charcoal-gray garments on the floor before the questing fingertips between his legs could confirm their first analysis.

Avon sat back, smiling faintly, visibly aroused. "I rather thought you'd manage it," he said, making the pedestrian words an erotic declaration.

"I rather thought I would," said Vila, copying his tone. Avon snickered. "I rather think I will," Vila went on, in his own accent, and pounced to push the other man to lie full-length on the bed. He held Avon down and kissed him, slowly, in the delicate Alpha style still new to him, enjoying every moment of it.

Avon accepted this with no sign of reluctance, merely freeing his hands to carry on the unhurried explatoration of Vila's person. Vila, entranced, did not wonder as the supple body beneath him slowly wriggled, until it levered itself — and him — sideways. He found himself clasped, and effectively immobilized, against the length of Avon's body by strong arms and a leg.

Amused dark eyes gazed into his. Avon's voice husked, deeper than ever, "I said you'd do. And well. Now?" He was triumphant, satisfied, eager.

"Smug bastard. I'd walk out on you if I didn't like it so much."

"Then I hope," various parts of Avon were rubbing against him, pleasantly, and both their growing erections were engaged in a tantalizing dance together, "you continue to..." Vila, learning with every move, matched Avon's style in a deliberate caress of thumbs over thinly-muslced stomach and doward, causing a gasp, "ahh... do so."

Neither of them spoke after that until Avon, control flung away, abandoned himself to a series of gasping exclamations. The last one, Vila was interested to note, was the crudest Delta gutter term he knew.

Hearing it brought heat into focus somehwere deep in his groin, and Vila neither noted nor remembered when he heard the word again in his own voice, seconds later.

Later Vila woke to find Avon, dressed in a dark robe, seated at his worktable wielding a laser probe on the Zephroid. Avon glanced up as Vila rustled the bedding.

"I've no intention of reprogramming this priceless object," he said, before Vila could speak. "I'm merely investigating its structure." The probe gave some signal and Avon withdrew it from the twinkling sphere.

"What can you do with it?"

"Not a lot. It was built to record and verify credit transactions on Zephron, and it can't be made to do anything else, short of a complete rebuild. I think it will even continue to function from anywhere in the galaxy."

"Gan will be relieved." Avon gave him a sharp glance. "That is, if he knew," Vila added. "You could set up a credit account on Zephron, couldn't you? We'd have our own money to spend there next time."

"Next time?" Avon made it sound severe and uncompromising.

"You'd like a place to get away from Blake, if you get tired of it here. I'd go with you."

Avon fingered the probe thoughtfully. "I take it that is an expression of partisanship. I do not need any such thing." His tone remained neutral. "On the other hand, you may wish to stay on _Liberator_ while I do. I could not object to that."

Vila kept himself from leaping off the bed and throwing himself at Avon. "Maybe I'll do that, then." His tone was a good imitation of detachment.

Avon smiled, with calculation. "What, then, do you plan to do with fifty centimeters of matched natural pearls?"

"Huh?"

"That necklace you picked up. It's back in your tunic pocket. It's a kind of slime-creature exudate, I believe." Avon was quite aware of what pearls might fetch on the galactic market, but he had no intention of touching them as long as Vila would. "I imagine such things are easy to come by on a planet like Zephron."

"I think I'll save them for a rainy day."

Still expressionless, Avon secured the Zephroid and probe, and came to stand over Vila on the bed. "I hope you don't regret that remark."

And he smiled.

* * *


End file.
